


In the Open

by katydidmischief (cassiejamie)



Category: Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-05
Updated: 2012-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-28 23:43:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/313474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassiejamie/pseuds/katydidmischief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They all have their secrets, but this one has had Will tied up in knots from the minute he met Ethan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Open

The downside to the Honeymoon phase (and they totally went through the Honeymoon phase, even if Ethan kicked Benji's ass for saying it) is that you don't pick up on the subtle things. Not like _he doesn't fold towels right_ or _why the hell can't he remember to leave his cellphone outside the bedroom_ —those things are... little annoyances.

No, subtle like how Brandt never really relaxes. How he never quite opens up to Ethan like Ethan has to Brandt (William. Will.) and how, even when they're in bed, it's like he's still alert.

It grates on Ethan's nerves, and not just because he can't figure out what it is that has Brandt this on edge despite the contentment they both feel: Ethan doesn't like the idea that there's something he hasn't been told. Yeah, they have their secrets, fine, and it's not as if they're the touchy-feely type, but Ethan's talked about Julia, IMF, told Brandt things that he only ever discussed with his closest friends...

"Ethan." Benji waves a hand over Ethan's eyes.

He blinks in response, then snaps back to awareness. "Yeah, yeah. Benji," he says, glancing out the window of the van they're traveling in to see where they are. He's unsurprised to find that they're at the airport and he barely hears Jane when she pops the door.

"Hey, come on. Home. Will," she prods, "Time to see if he's gotten any more junior analysts to cry."

Ethan laughs at the thought: Brandt had returned to his position as Chief Analyst, still refusing to serve as a full-time agent, to help rebuild the agency after the disaster of the shutdown. Getting the Force back up and running required time and effort and more patience than any of them had to give, especially when they'd had to start sending teams out on missions before they were actually prepared to do so, and Brandt had earned a reputation for making his underlings start sobbing with a glare.

(It's entertaining on the surface; Ethan will laugh about it with friends, but privately, he knows it's a symptom of something bigger.)

Boarding is easy and the flight should only be about six or seven hours, enough for Benji to talk at Ethan while they both nurse a plastic cup of cheap vodka then ride his second wind to its end and crash out until they hit turbulence on the descent to Dulles.

A company car—black SUV with tinted windows and a driver who could probably wield a shank as smoothly as s/he could change lanes—picks them up at the curb and delivers Benji and Jane to the office, Ethan to the home he and Will share.

It's not big, not small, just an average house with too many boxes still scattered about and not enough furniture to fill the voids. They have nice things, don't get them wrong, like the heavy antique desk in the office and the oak dining table, they simply haven't cared to do much else. (Will's tried to get his sister to come do it, Ethan asked Jane, both had told them to man up and get decorating.) Their bedroom, though, is fully outfitted with a bed and dressers and nightstands, the whole shebang, and it's where Ethan finds Will, face mashed in the pillow as he snores lightly.

He drops his duffel in the doorway, then takes his time stripping down. He kicks off his shoes and jeans in near silence, shrugs off the leather coat and the polo shirt, and climbs in behind Will, groaning in relief once he's gotten comfortable.

For a few minutes, it's Heaven—warm, safe, Will next to him—and Ethan revels in that feeling until Will becomes alert, tenses and (visibly) forces himself to relax.

"What is it?" Ethan asks, feeling like, here in the dark, he might have the chance to get whatever is going on into the open.

Will doesn't even roll over. "What?"

"The fact that even when we're both in DC, you're still somewhere else."

"Somewhere else?"

At this point, Will knows Ethan's lifting an eyebrow in disbelief, in challenge. He sighs, so incredibly tired of it, the guilt and the shame, and how he can't trust himself to ever really relax lest the secret burst out of him at the worst moment.

He lets the silence grow, listening to Ethan's breaths and matching them to his own as Will relents and burrows back into the solid bulk of his lover. He savors the feel of him, the scent of him, for a while, committing everything he can to memory before he steels his courage and says, "I was there, in Croatia. With Julia."

Ethan's grip around Brandt's waist never wavers.

"I'm so sorry, Ethan. I screwed up," he goes on. "I was the lead on your protection detail. I knew there were hostiles... Julia's dead because of me."

Will's _shivering_ by the last word, adrenaline coursing through him; he's waiting now, for whatever reaction Ethan will have. He doubts there's a happy ending here, so he braces himself and thinks of all the scenarios he'd come up with in the days and weeks prior to tonight. The ones he came up with every time he thought about telling Ethan about Will's involvement.

A hand settles flat against his chest, fingers rubbing over his ribs, and he goes still.

"In and out, Will." Ethan deliberately begins to regulate his breathing and when some of the tension drains out of the other man, he presses a kiss to back of Will's neck. (It makes Ethan ache thinking that _this_ is the thing Will hasn't told him. No wonder he's never able to let go nor open up to Ethan.)

Confusion is in Brandt's voice when he calls out Ethan's name, as if the idea that Ethan wouldn't immediately up and leave hadn't crossed his mind when he thought about this. And Ethan _knows_ Will's thought about this.

Slowly, Ethan shifts them both, pulling on Will until they're sitting up face to face. "Let it go," Ethan tells him; he gently settles his hips to Will's, pinning him there.

The look of disbelief on Will's face is startling.

"I know you." Ethan catches his gaze and neither is willing to break it. "I know, if you were there, that you did your best to protect us both, and that you followed SOP—two agents on Julia at all times, two agents with me, check-ins with headquarters several times a day, taps, standing evac orders—and that you fought like hell to find her."

It's true. All of it. Because Will did follow SOP and he did fight, he simply doubts that he did everything he should've.

"Will, stop it," Ethan says, "You have to let it go. It's over."

"Have you let it go?"

Ethan sighs, and admits, "I'm still working on forgiving myself for not protecting her better."

"That was my job."

"No, it was mine, Will. Mine. I failed, you didn't."

Brandt snorts, "Yeah, right. My protectee died. You went to prison for killing the guys who took her. I went to the Secretary and asked to be pulled from active service."

Okay, this has gone on long enough. "I went to prison for information on Cobalt, the Serbians were... useful and sanctioned. And yes, Julia died," Ethan's voice softens, "But it's not your fault."

Will eyes the other man, unsure, and this absolutely is not over—there's too much they need to talk about and too much Will needs to get out into the open—but he feels a little less like something is eating away at his gut, and when he opens his mouth to apologize one last time (for tonight) Ethan's leaning forward and capturing his mouth, kissing Will long and slow.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://ghotocol-kink.livejournal.com/1494.html?thread=470#t470) on [ghotocol_kink](http://ghotocol-kink.livejournal.com).


End file.
